2 minute read
The story of my relationship with playing guitar is like a love story–filled with episodes of self doubt, family tragedy, half-hearted attempts at commitment, rejection, and some level of acceptance. This is a little story about one guitar.
Sometime in the early 90s, I walked into a music store. There were dozens of beautiful acoustic guitars, but one stood out. A big, polished Guild D50, and it sounded like a whole band. A deep, lush sound. I’ve never heard an acoustic guitar quite like it, before or since. It was $1,000 used, but I bought it without hesitation. It came with a hardshell case.
About three years later, I sold it. I was in a ‘simplify my life’ phase, and my constant procrastination about playing and practicing made me decide to get rid of it (along with hundreds of books and many other possessions). It was hard, but I had given up—I was never going to be the rock star musician I fancied myself being. It felt like a little death.
Several years later, I found myself waiting for a bus with some time to kill, and spotted a small music store I’d never seen before. Why not, I thought, and walked in, just strolling around. Walls of guitars, used amps, drum kits, all the usual stuff.
But as I was about to leave, I glanced at the back wall, and one big guitar caught my eye. I walked closer. Sure enough, it was my old guitar.
At first I thought “Nah, can’t be”, but when I took the guitar down off the hanger and looked closer, I saw the proof: the ding that I’d made years ago, right there:
I stood there for a moment, frozen, unable to think straight.
My bus was coming in 15 minutes, and I needed to go. I put the guitar back and walked to the front. I pointed to the guitar on the back wall and asked—as casually as I could, though inside I was ready to shout—”how much in cash for that old Guild?” The proprietor peered at it, and quickly said “Oh…$750, and I’ll throw in a hard case.”
Looking at my watch, made a face and said “that’s a bit steep for me. I’ve got…$500”. In hindsight, I think I hoped he’d turn me down so I wouldn’t buy it. He seemed to think a bit, and said “maybe with no case; if you go $600, I’ll throw in a good case”. He knew he had me. I walked back to the wall and took down the guitar, knowing it was already mine again. Still in a daze, I walked back to the front and handed him the guitar. “Deal”, I said. And it was done.
A few minutes later, I walked out of there with the Guild in a case, jogging toward the bus stop. I made the bus. Sitting and clutching the guitar, I felt like a parent who’d found their lost child in a crowd.
I still have the Guild, a constant companion hanging on the wall near my desk. Now and then I think about all the wasted years I spent not playing, and I then I take the guitar down and play a bit, comforted.